#carrying yarn round the back is harder than it sounds

[cosmos-coma]

Hey!! I really love your writing! All witcher characters are very much on point, it’s amazing😍 i would have an idea for a Lambert fic if you don’t mind! How about reader is very much interested in learning from the witchers and hunting down monsters herself but Lambert is just very overprotective of her and thinks she’s insane for risking her life but in the end reader actually saves Lambert’s ass?? And they get together after that and it’s all fluff?? You can add anything to it, i love your Lambert!💜

Beasts and Books

A/N: Aww, thank you so much! I've been worried about my characterization- especially of Lambert, but I'm so glad you like him! and Okay, so fair warning this isn't edited like my other ones usually are and that's because I got carried away and wrote the longest one shot of my fucking life lol. I hope you enjoy it!!

Pairing: Lambert X Reader

Words: ~4k

________________________

Years ago- back when you were growing up in Velen, you actually started out as a farmer's daughter. Your mothers worked hard, taking care of the sheep, shearing them, and weaving the wool into yarn or bolts of fabric. You had been placed in charge of raising the lambs, rounding them up, and generally keeping them out of trouble. It was a lot harder than it sounded. 

They often fought with each other or knocked over their milk buckets and seemed to do everything in their power to get you just that close to selling them and being done with them. But you knew your mothers would never allow it and so you grumbled and just kept on.

But it was the lambs actually that happened to change your life too. It had been raining all morning and you had almost finished feeding the lambs when “Hold on- One, two, three, four, five- Where is number six?” you questioned, looking to the rest of their little faces as if they’d even have the manners to answer you, let alone the vocal cords. 

You scowled, hiking up your skirt as you stepped around in the muck, trying to find a sign of the tiny little lamb that got loose- the youngest of the batch this year. “Ah-hah!” you exclaimed when you spotted the trail of little hoofprints that slipped past the gate. He must’ve slipped through the fenceposts- he always was good at using his size to his advantage.

“Come on, lamb! I’m not gonna do this all day!” You followed the hoofprints into the forest nearby, prints few and far between as he must’ve been having the time of his life evading you. “Baaaa!” he let out a little bleat from just beyond the shrubs before you.

“Gotcha!” you grinned and popped your head over the shrubs, finding the lost lamb chewing on a rather damp book. “Well now, what have you gotten into?” You asked as you scooped him up, another bleat escaping him as the book fell away from his mouth. It looked like he’d found his way into an abandoned camp. There was a cold abandoned campfire and evidence of a bed roll flattening down the lengthy grass; you found bits of broken leather here and there- probably from someone doing repairs. 

“Looks like whoever it was left in a hurry…” You commented, ignoring the lamb who was now more interested in chewing on the ends of your hair than anything else. You flipped open the worn cover and read the title of the book aloud, “Brother Adalbert’s Bestiary… huh” 

“Y/N!” You heard one of your mothers call from the house; she must’ve come to check on how you were doing in the rain and not seen you in the lamb’s pen. “Coming, Mother!” You shouted in her direction and quickly scooped up the book before trudging back towards the house. 

Once you got back home and finished up with the lambs you parked yourself right in front of the crackling fireplace, drying both yourself and the book as you carefully flipped through it again and again, reading as you dried out its pages. 

‘Ghouls, nekkers, wyverns, barghest, the list goes on and on’  you thought to yourself as you skimmed through the pages, despite having been out in the rain it wasn’t as damaged as you thought it might be, even the notes lining the margins of each entry were still legible. You flipped to the beginning again to make sure the pages were dry when you came upon a little mark on the inside of the cover. It was a little sketchy and messy, but it looked like a little drawing of a wolf head next to the Letter ‘L’.

That was then- now you were a little older- still a farmer’s daughter, but now you were responsible for hunting monsters. You were no witcher, that was obvious- but you still made do. You had studied that bestiary until you knew it like the back of your hand, you saved up all your money to buy yourself a rinky-dinky set of armor and an old sword. You started small- fighting only what you knew you could take on; barghests and ghouls mostly- occasionally you attempted to help rid the swamp towns of bloedziuger, but you had yet to get down the speed you needed when they exploded into acid. 

You ran your fingers over the dappled scaring on your arm, a testament to when you had started out on this path you had chosen. You had used your smarts to set traps for your monsters to make it easier for you as a regular human, earned some good coin, and invested that into better equipment. Now you had a good custom-made silver sword, a sturdy but light set of armor, and were beginning to save up for a good horse too. 

“Alright Miss, this is as far as I’m taking you.” the cart driver had said, pulling his mule to a stop  in the middle of a small village. “You can walk the rest if you really need.” he kept watching you expectantly as you hopped off the back of his cart, making sure he didn't see the few apples you had swiped into your bag. 

“Yeah, thank you…” You murmured and handed him a few orens from your satchel to which he grinned and nodded his head. 

“Much obliged, Miss…” He tipped the edge of his worn-out hat and continued off down the road. 

“Yeah, sure you are…” You let out a sigh and stretched your legs, before heading over to the notice board. “Let’s see what we’ve got here…” 

You glanced it over, seeing mostly trade notices, but it seemed that there were a few notices you could actually fulfill too; wolves had attacked the livestock of one house, while wyvern seemed to be picking up the sheep of another one nearby. Probably were getting bothered by the same monster, but you figured you'd check them both out to be safe. 

You glanced around the town as you stood- it smelled overwhelmingly of animals and stove fires, but your nose had become so used to those over the years that it hardly struck you anymore. A few old women sat out in front of a house, idling and chatting in the late afternoon while chickens clucked and scurried around the streets openly. You guessed there would be a few more hours of sunlight left, so you probably had time to start your investigation before it became too dark for you to see. 

You set out to the other side of town to investigate the wolf contract first, figuring yours get the easy things out of the way first. 

And Thankfully it really was only wolves that were bothering this farmer and you were able to finish up the contract just before the night began to really fall. So you headed back to the local Inn, coin enough for a room now in hand, and maybe even enough for dinner too if you negotiated right. You were fortunate, you knew, that you were completely human- After all, it meant that people almost always treated you better. You didn’t have any problem with nonhumans, in fact, in this line of work you had even met several pleasant ones you'd like to see again- but you also couldn't ignore that you benefited from the way others treated them. 

It had just become fully dark when you came up outside the inn, torches along the road lighting your way back. When you came to the town square you heard a man trying to talk to one of the older ladies you had seen before. 

“Hey, you. Yes, you Miss. Where the hell are all the notices for witchers? I thought this was Velen- you guys always have some sort of shit going on for us to solve.” he said, sounding rather obnoxious as even his horse seemed to huff in protest. 

After grumbling something about ‘kids these days’, she motioned towards you, “apparently you’ve been beaten to it, Mutant. And I thought you witchers were supposed to be faster than us humans…” She snapped back at him with a smug look on her face. 

The man quickly turned to you and now you could see his yellow cat-like eyes and the scar running down beside his right eye. He had worn but rather unique armor and twin blades strapped to his back. 

‘Nope. I’m not dealing with this right now’,  you thought to yourself and quickly slipped inside the Inn. You went up to the innkeeper first thing, getting a room for the night and what little food and drink you could afford with the rest of your coin. Thankfully the witcher still had yet to come inside yet so you tucked yourself in a corner to eat and read by yourself. 

You opened up the bestiary as you ate, looking over the entry on wyverns. You had read this entry over dozens of times, but you didn’t want to risk missing anything that could help you later. 

“One room for the night if you will.” The man from earlier asked, now at the innkeeper's table. 

“Afraid we’re all out of rooms. She got the last one.” The keeper said as he threw a thumb in your direction. 

The turned to look and you were sure he swore under his breath at the exact moment you did before his face twisted into a frown. His footsteps were quiet as he came over to your table, setting his swords down. “So first you take all my contracts, then you take my room. Who the hell are you anyway? You don’t even look like a witcher, you look more like a wannabe knight.” He said callously. 

“Wow, quite the introduction. Are all witchers as charming as you Or do you have them all beat?” you retorted flatly, not even sparing another glance up at him. “It’s just my luck I  guess. My luck and your getting fucked.” you added, chucking a bit at your own rhyme. 

A wicked grin crossed his face and he leaned in closer, chin resting in his hand. “Oh..? You’ve got a bit of a bite in you, huh? I’m Lambert…” He introduced himself.

You looked at him, giving him a quick once-over with your eyes before you cracked a small smile his way and nodded. “I’m Y/n.” 

“Y/n? Well, now I have a name for all my problems. So what’s got you so enwrapped that you can barely look up at me? It’s gotta be pretty good because I’m- Hey, I know that book.” He reached over and took it from right in front of you. 

“Hey!” you yelled and went to snatch it back, but his witcher instincts made him far faster. “That's mine-”

“Where the hell did you get this?” he seemed a lot more serious now as he held up the book and looked back at you, suspicious eyes looking over your face to see any indication of lying. 

“I found it in the woods years ago, its Mine-” you went to emphasize again, but he interrupted you once again.

“No. No, this is mine.” He stated and opened up the inside cover, pointing to the little wolf drawing and the ‘L’. “This is me. Lambert of the school of the wolf. I lost this thing ages ago. I didn’t think I’d ever find it again.” 

You sighed as you watched him look over it with a level of care that was reserved for that of something like a childhood friend. This was the book that had shaped your life up to this point, but…. If it belonged to someone else, isn’t it only right that they have it again? You’d read that thing forwards and backward anyways, what more will it be able to tell you? 

You let out a small sigh but kept quiet as he flipped through the pages when he paused for a moment. “Wait- this note isn’t mine… Neither is this. ‘Afraid of bees and will actively avoid established hives’ , ‘bad climbers. Easy to trap in pits and kill, but will become feral in their attacks. Keep out of reach.’ “ Lambert read aloud, looking from entry to entry at the notes you had written in as you learned. 

“These are… yours? Did you… use this book to become a monster hunter?” He asked, looking at you in a mix of wonder and confusion. “You’ve got to be fuckin' insane- why would a human ever want to become a monster hunter?” after a half second of thought he handed the book back to you, which you brought to your chest possessively. 

“You said it yourself, Velen always has shit going on for you guys to solve. I grew up here and it's turning into something that’s almost too dangerous to live in. I wanna change that.” you shrugged it off as if it was nothing, but what you did held great importance to you.

Lambert was quiet for a moment, something that you gathered was probably unusual for him, as he seemed to take in your words. 

“But-” you started, trying to shift the topic and lighten the mood a bit. “How about to make up for stealing your book and all your jobs I let you stay in my room with me. You set up a bedroll in front of the fireplace or something.” you grinned a bit as you offered, watching his face turn from something serious into a charming smirk that you could feel draw you in a little more than you'd like to admit. 

You two spent the rest of the night chatting and throwing quips back and forth at each other, and before your drinks were done it felt like you had known each other for decades. There was a layer of sarcasm over much of the vulnerability there, but you could see past it easily. 

When you two made it up yo your room for the first time that night you discovered that the one bed the room had was actually a lot bigger than you had thought it would be. There was easily room for 2 people to sleep and still keep a bit of distance if they wanted. 

“Hey, Lambert?” you looked back at him as he came to the door, “not to be too forward, but would you like to just share the bed? I can keep to my own side if you can.” you posed to him and set your stuff down on one side. 

“Sure as hell beats the hell out of a bedroll.” He smiled and dropped his stuff on the other side and began pulling off his armor.

Your brain became like fuzzy static as you watched his tunic ride up through the motions he went through. The thin strip of skin and the distinct line of the ‘V’ his pelvis made was all you saw, but it was all you needed too. 

“Don’t tell me our little monster hunter is getting distracted…” he said smoothly with a little chuckle to his voice. 

Your blush glowed like a radiant lamp and you quickly turned away to snuff out that burning flame. “I just- well. You don’t want your armor on for sleeping? Isn’t it safer that way?” 

“What- are you gonna stab me?” he moved to lounge out on the bed, putting his arms behind his head and exposing his midsection to you again. 

“Well- I. No, of course not.” 

“Well, then I should be fine. Are you just gonna stand there all night?” He said with a huge grin, patting the bed beside him. That bastard knew exactly what he was doing.

“Shut up” you looked away and quickly and quietly got down to your tunic and underclothes. You climbed under the warm covers and pulled the blanket high around your shoulders. “Are you gonna sleep above the covers tonight?” You asked, rolling over to face him and pushing your hair out of your face. 

A smile came over him when he looked over at you, it was softer than the others he had offered you tonight and a little more sincere as well. “I’m gonna be up for a little while. You know us Witchers, we don't really sleep much.” He shrugged and ran a hand through his already pushed-back hair. “Don’t you worry about me, you get some sleep…” 

You struggled to hold back a yawn as you nodded in agreement. “Goodnight, Lamb.” you mumbled before drifting off into a sound sleep.

“Goodnight, little monster hunter…” the witcher mumbled quietly as he watched your sleeping face. He hadn’t felt this… soft sort of feeling before. Something that felt so deep and so real it almost scared him to admit he was feeling it, but as he looked down at your sleeping face he felt ease wash over him. How could you throw yourself into such a profession? Didn’t you know the risks? You even had the choice of it, unlike him…

“Mmph…” you mumbled out as you shifted in your sleep, reaching out for something that wasn’t there. 

Without a second thought, Lambert put his arm in the way of your reaching hands, smiling a bit as your hand naturally found his and you held his arm close to you in comfort. 

“What am I gonna do with you..?” he mumbled into the quiet night once more.

When morning came you woke up to an empty and cold bed, but you weren't sure why that seemed to hurt for some reason…. But within minutes your witcher had returned with breakfast in hand.

“So, we’re hunting a wyvern?” Lambert asked as he handed you a plate. 

“Good morning to you too.” you remarked with a smile, “looks like. We can prepare after breakfast?” 

And so you two did, when breakfast was finished you two gathered up your things and made for the stables. 

“Here, you can ride on the horse. I’ll walk- I hate trying to follow a creature's trail on horseback…” he justified as he helped you up, hands on your waist as he boosted you up. 

“Thanks, Lamb… lead the way?” you smiled down at him, grabbing the reins. 

You two made your way to towards the last house on the way out of town, looking around for evidence of this wyvern and following the blood trail towards what you could only guess would be a nest. 

“So, look-” Lambert started. “Why don’t I just take this one? You know how tricky these draconids can be.” He offered, looking up at you to see your reaction, but it wasn’t exactly what he was hoping for. 

Your brow furrowed and you shook your head. “What? No. I’ve taken monsters on my own before so why should this be any different?” you argued. “No, If you want we can fight it together, but I'm gonna be there either way.”

“Look- I get that you’re supposed to be a monster hunter and all, but why would you want to go ruin a pretty face like that? Why don’t you just keep yourself out of trouble?” he sounded a bit less hypothetical now and a little more like an argument.

“So you think I’m pretty?” you asked with a smirk, trying to turn the topic of conversation. You really didn’t want to have this conversation right now. You’re a monster hunter! And even though you’re still figuring things out you didn’t want it to stop you.

The witcher only sighed at your response. “Yeah, I do…” his words drifted off a bit as he slowed to a stop, his horse automatically stopping beside him. “Hey, I’ll be right back, okay? I’m gonna go take a leak before the fight. First rule of being a witcher you know”, He said and headed off into the thicker brush, his somber tone resonating in your mind. 

“That cannot possibly be true.” you laughed a touch and watched him go, sighing a bit, but taking the moment to get your things ready, bombs and potions from the recipes scribbled in the back of the book. 

But it was taking quite a while for Lambert to come back…

“Come on, Lamb! I’m not gonna do this all day!” You shouted, feeling a sense of Deja vu as you called those words. You waited around a few minutes more until you heard an exasperated and pained cry coming from far off past the brush. 

“Damn it, Lambert!” you yelled as you processed what he had done and stirred his horse into motion, tugging its reins towards said noise. You were angry, to be honest. I mean, did he just think you couldn’t do it by yourself? Did he think that because you were human you couldn't fight like he did?  The thoughts alone made your blood boil and your skin grow hot and itchy as it was whipped by the wind. 

When you finally came onto the scene you saw Lambert rushing around on the cliff's edge, battling the aged draconid all by himself. You practically threw yourself off the horse and into the fight as you came in close. “Damn it, Lambert! You lying bastard!” you yelled and drew the Wyvern's attention to you now as you stabbed your sword into its tail. 

“Don’t yell at me, it was for your own good!” He yelled back as he cast Igni, vying for its attention to come back to him. 

“My own good? You sound like my bloody mothers!”  

“Sweet Melitele, I did it to protect you!” Lambert shouted, looking to you instead of the wyvern now and dropping his guard. 

“Lambert…” you sighed, breath coming out in heavy huffs as you fought off the creature. But you didn’t get the chance to say anything more before the annoyed creature whipped its tail at the witcher and flew off with the last of its strength. 

He had jumped back in just the nick of time but unfortunately didn’t realize how close he was to the edge. With one foot on stable ground and the other about to step off the cliff’s edge, his body's momentum had him off kilter and about to topple over….

“Lambert!’ you yelled and ran towards him, grabbing him by his sword’s sheath strap just in time and yanking him forcefully back onto safe ground. You stumbled backward to safety and landed on the ground right beside your annoying witcher. 

“How’s that for ‘I did it to protect you’?” you huffed in an attempt to catch your breath, nudging Lambert with your elbow as he processed that he had almost died. 

“Holy shit….” he muttered, reaching unconsciously for your hand- much like you had done just the night before. 

You set your sword down and put your hand out to find his. “Lamb… while I admire you trying to protect me I don't want you to become overprotective. I love doing what I do- after all, I chose this path. And I know I'd love it more if I could work side-by-side with you” You looked to him as you talked, watching his expression turn sincere, but not uncomfortable. “I’d love to learn more about monster hunting from you, but don’t count me out just yet, okay?”

Lambert nodded, a smile forming over his features as he squeezed your hand. “I suppose it’s the least I can do since you saved my life… How about we finish off this wyvern together?”

You nodded, a grin spread across your face once again. “Together.”

_________________________

Taglist: @open--till--midnight @writingmysanity @dark-academia-slut @madamemelancholysstuff

If you wanna get added/taken off the taglist or if I've made a mistake just DM me and let me know!

[sh4dowsdi3]

The Stangers

Word count: 782

Content warnings: None

Preview:

9:35

The night is cold but at least it finally stopped raining. The sound of thunder moves further and further away. I may hate the rain, but the scene afterwards is quite gorgeous. The ground glistens, reflecting streetlights and stars. The air is crisp and smells clean. The streets are still empty. Everyone wants to make sure the rain is truly gone.

I take my time walking to the bus stop. I make sure to step in every single puddle. When I arrive at my destination there’s a man sitting and waiting. He looks to be around my age. He’s soaking wet and shivering. His skin is glistening, reflecting the streetlights and stars. Perhaps he felt my eyes staring at him because he looked right up at me. I first noticed that his eyes were large and round. Then I noticed that his eyes were a very dark brown, not black.

“I thought that the rain would slow down by the time my bus came. But I got here late and my bus had left. Then it rained harder.”

His voice was smooth and his tone was warm.

“That sucks. The rain is unpredictable and life is just unkind.”

My voice is filled with cracks with an awkward tone.

“Yeah, and it doesn’t help when you just can’t seem to do anything right.”

“Exactly! Even if life gave me a break for just one day, I’d still manage to mess it up.”

“I’d forget an umbrella, miss the bus, not get enough sleep-”

“Wake up late, miss the bus again, then repeat.”

His voice cracked when he laughed and my tone became more warm. We both smiled as we talked although the content of our conversation was quite gloomy.

“I just did the laundry last night, mopped the floor, and polished all of my shoes. Maybe this is a sign to stop trying.”

“Right? I bought a nice suit for my job, just to get laid off right after.”

He looks at my brand new suit and I look at his shiny shoes. Was I trying to connect with him or was I trying to get this off my chest?

“My sister is doing so much better than me. She has a good job, a nice boyfriend, and just a good life.”

“She must be like my little brother. He’s so smart and so good with people. He’s making good money too.”

“They’re living the good life. I’m happy for them.”

“Me too. I wouldn’t wish this on them or anyone else.”

“I guess we just have to carry the burden of being the family disappointment.”

We both laugh a little too loudly. Our voices bounce off the walls of this empty street. Not a car nor person has passed by. It’s just us.

“I finished a book though. I didn’t write it, I finished reading a book. Before that, I hadn’t picked up a book since college.”

“Good for you! I just learned how to crochet. I bought some yarn and some hooks and I figured it out.”

“I guess we’re not doing so bad.”

“Yeah, I guess not.”

We were quiet for a moment. I looked down at his shoes again. He was lightly tapping his foot in a puddle. The small splashes are the only noise for a while.

“Do you think life gets better?”

He pauses then takes a deep breath.

“I hope so. Do you think life gets better?”

I pause. His large, dark brown eyes reflect the street light and stars. I wanted to say, “Probably not.” But something changed my mind.

“Maybe. But that’s not up to us. We just have to do what we have to do.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Suddenly, a bus stops in front of us. Its lights were so bright yet I hadn’t noticed it until now. The smell of exhaust brings me back to reality.

“Is this your bus?”

“No.”

“Oh, well this is mine.”

He stands up and tries to brush the water off of his clothes.

“Wait, your collar is messed up.”

I fix his shirt then give him a soft smile.

“I hope we meet again.”

The air is freezing. I feel a drop of rain hit my nose. I hate the rain. Too bad this bus stop doesn’t have a roof. The clouds drift closer and closer towards the moon. They will eventually swallow it whole and the puddles on the ground will lose a bit of their light.

“Me too.”

He leaves me. He waves goodbye and I wave back. As the bus departs I think to myself, “I should have asked him his name.” Another thing I can’t do right.

10:05

[abbysfrenchbraid]

Kissed by a Wolf - Chapter 7

masterlist  /  playlist for reading

After we've arrived at the lowest point of this love triangle mess, it's now time to put the pieces back together. Eivor has to get a grip on things and the reader finally has to tell her how they feel. 

CW for blood/open wounds, food mention

inspo pic by @classicnovaproductions​

Promise

You were woken by movement behind you - Eivor had sat up and was cursing under her breath. As she stood up, you turned your head slightly to see what she was doing. The right side of her tunic was dark with dried blood.

With shaky fingers, she rolled up the fabric to reveal blood-soaked linen underwear and stained red skin. The tunic seemed to stick to the wound. Eivor pressed her lips together and ripped it off in one upward motion, letting out a small whine and immediately biting her knuckles to silence herself.

The gash on her hip started bleeding right away. It looked horrible. The flesh around it was purple from the impact and the wound was deep and gushing blood. You sprang up from the mattress and rushed toward her. Birna yelled in fright and protest and hid under the bed.

 “Eivor, oh God! Why did you not say anything yesterday? This requires stitches!”

The warrior was breathing heavily, trying to keep her composure as blood already started pooling at her foot.

“I thought it would close overnight, but my belt and the fabric must have made it worse,” she said, sounding both desperate and confused. “What do I do now?”

You were already rummaging around for the needle and thread you had used to mend her clothes a few days ago and threw her a clean rag.

 “Here, press this on the wound.” She caught it and leaned back against the table to keep her balance, then she folded the cloth and pressed it on her hip with both hands.

There were still a few last smoldering coals in the fireplace, so you added a few twigs and hung up the kettle with a small amount of water while you waited for the flames to come. The water started to boil quickly and you threw in the needle and yarn, then you tore up cloth into stripes and also put them into the water.

“Come here,” you ordered and Eivor stepped around the bed to stand next to you in front of the fireplace. Her face was ashen-pale. You took the kettle from the fire and fished out one of the fabric stripes with a spoon, letting it cool for a moment until you could touch it without burning the skin off your fingers.

You gently moved Eivor’s hands and the blood-drenched rag from the wound and pressed the hot fabric to her skin. She sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth, but stayed still and let you proceed. You washed the skin around the wound with the clean cloth and then went on to clean out the gash itself. It pained you to put Eivor through so much suffering, but you needed to prevent the wound from getting inflamed and foul.

Finally, you grabbed your sewing utensils and started closing up the wound. Eivor’s hands were now shaking vigorously and she buried her fingers in the furs on the bed trying not to move or cry out. You apologized over and over again while you tried to work as quickly as possible. When you were finished, you pressed the last hot rag on the wound and cleaned off the last of the blood.

 Eivor let herself fall back on the bed and put an arm over her face, trying to regulate her breathing. You sat down next to her and stared at your bloody hands. It had all happened so quickly, you were questioning whether you were really awake yet.

When you turned to look at Eivor, she was staring at the ceiling, a single tear running from the corner of her eye into the intricate braids. You laid down next to her and followed her gaze to the wooden beams above you. Your hands were lying next to each other between you, not touching but so close you could feel her warmth.

“I owe you an apology,” Eivor began quietly, “but I am at a loss for words. Where can I even begin? I put you into a cage even though you were wounded and scared, and I only noticed you were hurt when it was almost too late. I let Randvi treat you like a traitor even though you only helped us. I forced myself on you last night and you had to carry me back here because I was too drunk to stand. And now you save me once again, even though I have done nothing to ever deserve it.”

You stayed silent, waiting for her to continue. Should you tell her that you saw her with Randvi? She sighed.

“If you wish to part ways now, I understand. Sigurd will welcome you into the clan tonight. I will make sure to provide a roof over your head somewhere else in this village and you are free to do as you please.”

Her words were a dagger to your heart. She was setting you free, knowing how much pain she had caused you. But everything inside you was screaming at you to stay, to get closer, to stop speaking of separation, to only feel her lips on yours again. You felt your eyes well up. Carefully, you moved your hand in Eivor’s direction until your knuckles touched. The sensation made breathing harder, but it felt warm and consoling.

“However, if you stay despite everything I have done, I will be forever grateful to you. Everything feels wrong when I am without you, like thick fog limiting my vision and robbing me of all sense of direction. You guide me home.”

One of her fingers moved to brush over yours. Your heart was beating so loud that you were sure Eivor could hear it, too. You had to tell her. If this was your chance of resolving this mess, you had to tell her.

You pulled your hand away and turned to her, propping yourself up on an elbow.

“Eivor, there is something you need to know.”

Her eyes widened and you could see the fear behind them, fear of losing you forever.

“The night before the second raid, I went out looking for you.”

She understood immediately and closed her eyes, breathing out slowly as she waited for you to deliver the final blow.

Suddenly there were steps coming closer to your door and you could hear Valka’s voice singing a happy “Good Morning, Eivor! I brought food!”

Eivor shot up and pulled down her bloody tunic before rushing to the door, followed closely by a white ball of fur. You sat up as well.

Birna slipped out as soon as Eivor opened the door, then Valka stood in the room. She had brought a basket with bread and dried fruit as well as a bottle of a dark greenish liquid. She seemed surprised to see you here but greeted you just as enthusiastically.

“Seeing as you had to be carried to bed last night” - Eivor groaned and pressed her hands to her head - “I thought I’d come by to make sure you are still breathing. But first, would you mind telling me why you are drenched in blood? Did Y/N finally have enough of you?”

The healer gave you a sisterly smirk and placed the basket on the table. Before Eivor could even react, Valka had pulled up her tunic and let out a sound of surprise.

“Freya’s tears, what happened here?” She turned to you, still holding up the tunic. “Did you sew her up?”

You nodded and went to inspect the contents of her breakfast bundle before remarking that it probably would be best if she took another look at it to make sure it would heal well. Eivor was visibly annoyed at the fuss about her, but she did not dare to object. You popped some dried cherries into your mouth and lifted the green bottle against the light from the window.

“What is this?”

“Oh, the perfect brew for a morning after heavy drinking,” Valka explained, lifting the tunic over Eivor’s head. The warrior had bound her chest with strips of linen and now crossed her arms over her almost bare upper body. “Peppermint, ginger, and several bitter herbs. It tastes horrid, but it wakes you up and soothes an upset stomach.”

You threw Eivor a fresh tunic and she gave you a grateful nod, quickly pulling it over her body. Valka decided it was best if you joined her at her hut where she would prepare a fresh salve for the wound. Birna accompanied you on your way up the hill and, once inside, immediately chose Valka’s bed as her new throne.

Eivor bickered with her for a moment, then the cat moved over so Eivor could sit down next to her. You watched closely as Valka heated up oil and beeswax until they melted together, throwing in calendula and daisy petals, lavender, and buckhorn. The herbs soon started spreading their wonderful scent throughout the room and the oil slowly turned a greenish-yellow color. You helped filter the mixture through a clean cloth and caught it in a small clay pot, placing it on the windowsill to let it cool.

In the meantime, Valka had heated up water and thrown in a few cloves of crushed garlic. Now she placed another round of hot, wet fabric stripes on the wound and gently pressed them down with her palm. Eivor was clenching her jaw and clutching the blanket beneath her, but she endured the procedure without complaining.

Valka explained to you that garlic fought off illness and cleansed wounds even better than plain hot water, but she was happy with you for thinking of cleaning the wound before sewing it shut. She was also satisfied with your needlework on Eivor’s skin - the wound had stopped seeping and seemed to close up well.

As you both sat next to Eivor, waiting for the cloth on her hip to cool down, the silence grew thicker. Eivor kept her eyes closed the entire time, not showing any emotion. Valka was unusually late in recognizing that something was wrong. She gave you a questioning look and you just pressed your lips together and lightly shook your head.

After a while, the healer threw the wet rags into a basket and stood up to grab the salve from the window. She gently rubbed it into the bruised skin around the wound and handed the pot to you. Then she took a long bandage from a box and wrapped it around Eivor’s hips several times, fastening it with a knot.

“Here are two more bandages.” You took them from her. “Change the dressings twice a day and boil them after every use. Clean the wound and put the salve on before every new dressing. We should be able to remove the stitches in a few days so it can heal on its own.”

You helped Eivor up and thanked Valka for her assistance, promising to come by later so she could prepare you for your welcoming ceremony.

As you walked back to Eivor’s hut, she suddenly stopped. You turned around, raising your eyebrows at her.

“Y/N. I have been thinking about what you said. You saw me and Randvi, is that right?”

You nodded, feeling your throat close up.

“There is no excuse for what I did. I betrayed my brother and I turned from you after drawing you closer for days. Randvi and I were together for some time, but I ended it a while ago. She still wanted me and she found me at the right moment last night. All I can say for myself is that I was drunk, so drunk I could not think or feel anything anymore. I was lost, I was looking for love and I thought I could not place that burden on you, so I grasped my chance when Randvi came after me.”

She took a deep breath, holding your gaze.

“I should have never kissed Randvi, not the first time and not the last time. I was weak and astray, I still am. I often drink to find joy, yet I only find misery every time. I know that I should have come to my senses much earlier, I should have told you how I felt and I should have never kissed you without asking what you wanted.”

Her outburst shocked you; she had never been this honest and open with you. You could see she was hurt and ashamed, trying to save whatever still was left between you. You reached out a hand and she caught it between hers, her eyes full of fear and pleading.

“I can never make up for all the pain I have caused you. But if you choose to stay, if you choose to walk through that door with me and continue to be by my side, I swear to you by everything that is dear to me that I will never betray you, I will never lie to you and I will do everything in my power to make this work.”

She squeezed your hand with shaky fingers, her voice cracking at the last words. Your insides were in turmoil, you were completely overwhelmed with everything that had happened. But there, somewhere inside you, a tiny spark lit up. The smallest flame licked around the coals at the bottom of your chest. It was hope that had returned to you.

You knew that Eivor meant every word she had said. She would be lost without you, that much you knew already. You placed your free hand on top of hers and took a step closer.

“My wolf-kissed lady. It is true that you have caused me a great deal of pain. The last few days there was so much resentment inside of me. But we cannot choose who we love and we all lose our way sometimes. If you will let me, I would like to pull you back on a new path, one destined for us both. That path requires sacrifice, hard work, patience, and vigor. At your side, I am willing to try.”

Eivor pulled you to her and you wrapped your arms around her, careful not to press your body to her wounded hip. She stayed stiff for a moment, then she let out a relieved sigh and held you tightly, pressing her cheek to the top of your head and mumbling foreign words into your hair. Something brushed against your shin and you looked down to find Birna wedged between you, meowing for attention.

You smiled at Eivor through your tears and she picked up the cat, holding her to her chest and gently rocking her side to side like a newborn. The three of you made your way down to the cottage and Eivor opened the door for you, gently lowering Birna onto the bed. You closed it behind you and leaned against the hard wood.

Eivor stood a few feet from you, just a little bit further than an arm’s length away. There was an awkward silence as neither of you knew what to say, then you decided to relieve the tension. You sat down on the wooden trunk.

“I do not know how fast we will heal. But I don’t want to make you suffer, I believe you have put enough blame and hate on yourself already.” You looked down at your hands, rubbing them together nervously. “I know how you feel about me. I have felt the same way for some time. The things I saw the night before made it impossible for me to enjoy our kiss last night and I don’t think I could do so just yet. What I need is for you to prove to me that you mean it, show me that you are no longer interested in Randvi and that you really want us to be together. Once I know I can count on you and that there is nothing left standing between us, I will gladly find my way into your arms again.”

A weight was lifted off of you, now that you had finally lent voice to all your tumultuous thoughts and the feelings that had been waiting to spring free from your chest.  Eivor stepped closer to you and took your hands in hers again. Her eyes were clear now and she was standing upright, no longer carrying secrets and guilt in front of you.

“I devote myself to you, little bird.” She shook her head and huffed. “Who am I to call you little, when you have shown such courage and grace? I am the one who is small before you.” She suddenly chuckled. “Someone once called me a lovely dove. I was offended at the time, thinking she was mocking me. But is there a bird more devoted, more graceful and exquisite?”

Eivor smiled down at you and brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I promise that I will do right by you, sweet Y/N, my delicate dove.” Her face was so close now that you could see the tiny hairs on her cheeks and the depths of her blue eyes. Her lips were almost touching yours. She was beautiful. You stopped breathing and closed your eyes.

The next thing you felt was her lips on the back of your hand and when you opened your eyes again, Eivor was still looking at you, kissing your knuckles one by one. Then she took a step back and nodded, determination visible on her face. She would do everything she could to prove herself worthy to you.

[tearofisha]

"Go to Mangeria IV, there you shall find an instrument of fate like yourself who will show you the way"

Aelinor Fatereader’s message was clear, and so Rishaeron made haste for the world at first opportunity. It was a backwater, Mangeria IV. The desert moon of its neighbour planet was a choking sandy hell the Imperium deigned little use for besides storing supplies, housing contraband and the garrison of a previously shamed Guard regiment.

And so the lonesome Ranger marched through the hellish dunes and wondered what he might find at the abandoned fortification in the distant south of the continent.

“Instrument of Fate” he repeated to himself. The name he was assigned since he re-purposed his life as a weapon for the Seer Council. Would a resourceful Inquisitor be waiting for a xenos contact? An Astartes emissary with a thousand years of bloodshed behind him? The possibilities were endless and the uncertainty made Rishaeron anxious. Nevertheless, he continued.

He made good time to the fortified position and through his scope, he made out the four tall walls of the abandoned fort, with impressive watchtowers at every corner dilapidated and dis-repaired. A large portion of the western wall had caved in so the Ranger walked silently inside with his senses scanning for information. It didn’t take long to find almost buried footsteps in the sand that led to an open door to one of the many gargantuan warehouses.

He approached silently, Ranger Long Rifle in hand and pressed the tip into the neck of a figure crouched over an open supply case. The figure stood straight instantly, and raised its arms above its head, letting out a nervous laugh as it did so.

“Is that a rifle, or are you happy to see me? Aha, but really, don’t shoot.” it spoke in Aeldari. Rishaeron took a step back and watched the figure carefully. He was slender and tall with dark hair brought high into an undercut ponytail with the signature Cameoline cloak over the colours of a Ranger from Alaitoc.

“It is rare for an Outcast to let down their guard, especially one from the world of Starstriders.” Rishaeron lowered his rifle slightly and took in the details of the interloper. He was young. Very young, in fact. The stringent paths of Alaitoc drives many of its children away and Rishaeron judged this one was no different. “I am Rishaeron Wayfinder, son of Ulthwe and instrument of the Seer Council. Who exactly are you?”

“Vir. Well, Virlandil. But Vir to my friends, wh-what are you doing out here, did someone send you?.” he said, nervously while making no subtle effort to obstruct Rishaeron’s view of the crate behind him. The Ulthweans frustration was obvious, for miles and for days he had marched to make this meeting and this is what he finds; an inexperienced youth lost in a desert.

“What are you hiding, Virlandil?” Rishaeron asked. Before Virlandil could make his excuses he was pushed out of the way and it was made obvious why he wished to hide it. Dreamleaf. The crate was absolutely packed with the soft drugs, the kind young Aeldari enjoyed in order to ‘expand their minds’.Before Rishaeron could so much as tut, Virlandil was spinning his yarn.

“Well. Um. Well, friend it’s um...” he stopped himself and affected a casual a stance as possible, his nerves making him suspiciously  animated.

“Rishy. Can I call you Rishy? Anyway, this is not mine.In fact, it is the property of a Corsair band that use this planet to smuggle Dreamleaf. That’s it. Yeah. They smuggle it here and hide it and I’m here to stop it from being sold. By stealing it.”

Rishaeron couldn’t raise a sceptical eyebrow before he was interrupted by the rumbling tank treads of a Chimera  and the raucous noise of a dozen men hastily getting out. The two Rangers were stunned and surrounded, staying put in their warehouse would mean certain death for both. with preternatural timing, Virlandil fell to his back and hid just as a figure began to stride past the door, before tugging hard on Rishaeron’s cloak, sending him sprawling to the ground on top of him. A heartbeat later, a Guardsman peeked its head into the warehouse for a long moment, before carrying on unaware of the intruders.

“12 of them and one tank. You won’t have any explosive charges on you, will you?” Rishaeron asked to a tense Virlandil, who managed a negative shake of the head in reply. “Are you good with that rifle?” another shake of the head came.

“Isha save me, do you have anything to help us here?”

“My Jetbike, it’s outside the walls if we get to it we can escape.” the Alaitocii whispered.

Rishaeron sighed, today was turning out very differently to how he expected.

“Touched by fate” he repeated Aelinor Fatereader’s words which sounded almost sarcastic in hindsight, to a confused Virlandil.

“To the Jetbike then.” Rishaeron concluded.

“On one condition.” the Alaitoc Outcast interrupted. “Help me get this out” he tapped the Dreamleaf crate with an almost intimate longing. Rishaeron nearly screamed, he was being asked to risk his life so a young Ranger could be higher than a Swooping Hawk. Knowing better than to negotiate at a time like this, the Ranger bit his tongue and agreed.

“I’ll scout out, wait for my signal” the Ulthwean warned, before replacing his cloak over his head and blending into the shadows. Silent steps led him undisturbed to outside the warehouse and he quickly observed the Guard around him. Ten men were placed at regular intervals, covering the perimeter of the fort while a Sergeant followed a Commissar as he made his inspections.

One or more Guardsmen would need to die unnoticed for their escape to work, and in their state of parade ground readiness with the Commissar nearby it would be hard to do distract them. Ruing the day he walked onto  Mangeria’s worst planet, Rishaeron readied himself for his fools gambit.

He picked a nearby rock and whispered a quiet prayer, before throwing it as hard as he could at a group of barrels near the centre of the compound. An almighty clang rang out and the alarm was raised, Guardsmen scattered like ants to find the source of the noise.  

“Now, go. Go!” he ushered Virlandil who strained to carry the packed crate. They would only have seconds and needed to make them count.

In the anxious energies of a rapidly escalating situation, the young Ranger stumbled and fell forward the heavy crate thudding into the ground.

“Shit. Shit, shit shit” he hissed, as Lasguns began to fire after him.

“Hurry, Vir. I’ll cover you.” Rishaeron hissed, firing a shot from his rifle that downed the nearest human with a short scream.

Rishaeron retreated as Lasgun fire chased him, a shot from his Shuriken Pistol downed another as Virlandil escaped through the destroyed piece of wall. But the humans were hot on the Ulthweans tail. He climbed up the nearest watch tower and directed his rifle onto the Guard below, slaying another in a spray of viscera. The Guard finally used their brains and set up in two ranks with a mixture of instruction and violent threats from the Commissar, the Chimera transport adding to the intense suppression fire Rishaeron was facing.The very structure he was in was crumbling under the weight of Las-fire and a burning shot struck him hard in the shoulder.

“Shit, where are you Virlandil?” he muttered to himself, clutching his rifle close.and breathing through the searing pain

“Well”, he reasoned,”If this is how it happens, I am ready. Time to go out with a bang.” he waited for the smallest break in shooting and levelled his rife. In the few heartbeats he had, time seemed to slow. Looking down his scope, he saw the weathered face and signature uniform of  Commissar and pulled the trigger. The round went wide, striking the clavicle of the officer instead of the temple, but he fell back wounded all the same and it was enough for the fire to stop if only for a second or two. Rishaeron cursed. The last shot he would survive firing and he didn’t kill his target. He closed his eyes and waited.

“Rishy!” Virlandil cried from his Jetbike. “Come, quickly!”

He offered his hand to Rishaeron who accepted with a grunt of pain and without waiting, Virlandil sent his bike screaming away from the fort. Things didn’t add up, too many coincidences had happened in just a few minutes for the Ulthweans taste, and his experience meant he was missing a crucial piece of the puzzle.

“Wait. Wait,go back.” Rishaeron spoke, realising the greater machinations behind his actions today.

“Are you crazy? We’re free!”

“Trust me, Vir. Take us back and keep us steady, I need you to see this through with me.”

It took a second, and Rishaeron wondered if his request would be followed, but the Alaitocii turned his Jetbike and held at the edge of the fort-made-depot. Their quarry lost, the Guard huddled around the wounded Commissar who was barking orders while a bandage was applied. Rishaeron took a steadying breath. His wound throbbed. The Jetbike struggled under the weight of two and bobbed. The mass of concerned humanity surrounding the Commissar. resembled bees buzzing around their queen and made the target even harder to hit.

He exhaled slowly, and fired. Blood stained the sand and walls around where the Commissars fell. A bolt placed firmly between his eyes..

“Bloody balls of Khaine, how did you do that?” Virlandil exclaimed.

“Practise.” came the reply.

“Lets get out of here Rishy, before you get anymore ridiculous ideas.” the young Ranger sassed.

Rishaeron smiled. He was a piece in a grand game today. He was supposed to be here, supposed to meet Virlandil, supposed to be discovered and finally supposed to kill that Commissar.

He clasped the shoulder of his unlikely companion as he drove, knowing he would have met his death today if not for the unusual Ranger..

Instrument of fate, indeed.

[speakof]

The Devil’s Own

Location: Third Floor / Closed Date: 10pm, June 24th, 2017 Trigger Warnings: Gore, blood, implied death, crucifixion mention

The prickling of Lucifer’s omniscience had of course intimated that tonight’s soiree was going to have a less than pleasant outcome; but “unpleasant” and what this was represented as entirely different. In Lucifer’s room, it seemed almost all of his ‘sensors’ were out of whack; he could only imagine what Raziel was feeling, or perhaps the once-was angel was more used to the lack where new senses now filled him—or perhaps his senses were unaffected. Lucifer was skeptical of his room, knowing by now the markings of a Horseman’s plaything, and if this was anything to gauge by, the belief wielded by the first two had led the third to have quite a lot to toy with. Naturally Ms. Thomasˆ was probably loving having God and the Devil in her claws. Lucifer set his mouth into a firm line, considering his artfully arranged surroundings, which were altogether not distasteful, but this wasn’t the time for it.

Slowly, the room changed, seeming to accentuate his discomfort. His sensed were a little dulled as a Devil with a pantheon in need of a boost—but this room was worse. Everything in it maintained its shape and structure, but became unfamiliar: from where Lucifer stood, from beneath his shoes, eked out a soot dark dust that swarmed to engulf everything in that selfsame darkness. It wasn’t an unknowable darkness; it wasn’t the void, empty of any and everything. No, simply, everything was lifeless and ashen. Ash fell from the ceiling like a mockery of snow. When Lucifer went to find his footing, hand trailing for stability against a wall, his fingers came away coal black, and the wall shifted away after he touched it. It wasn’t a melting; no, it was more like a cracking. Like the beams decided to separate and re-merge in a different way. And then suddenly, the room was impossible to navigate.

Lucifer was on the outskirts of an inky labyrinth, the walls unforgiving and cold, the texture of tree bark. Every few steps he took, the walls shifted around him, his sense of direction getting skewed further, the light fading and becoming harder to ascertain if he was going forward or back; all he had was his sense of touch and these strange walls with their burnt-out textures. The ash continued to fall, sometimes getting in his eyes, but he managed to find a red string by his feet: the only splash of colour, no more sturdy than a yarn. Like a lifeline, Lucifer grasped it, seeing it as the only information he’d been given as to a way out. He had to get out—the end of the world wasn’t going to happen with the Devil and God trapped somewhere in a maze. The idea of the world quietly taken over while the deities were shoved into a nouveau Tartarus was, indeed, the stuff of his nightmares. Would the yarn make it better or worse?

“Hello?” he called out into the darkness, both with voice and mind, to sense any reply. Nothing came, the sound swallowed up in softness, the way a scream folds into a pillow case. Choking back a bit more emotion than was useful at the moment, Lucifer made his way onward. He’d seen the roils of Hell; surely, he could withstand what the string brought him. A sharp turn showed Raziel hanging in a crucifixion pose, but upside down, as all the blood rushed to the head of his corporal form, eyes lolling and bulging, lips turning blue around a tongue fat from lack of water, unable to speak, only to cough around the drifting ashes. Immediately, Lucifer tested to see if it was only his senses, or also his powers, which left him in this space; it seemed he could use telekinesis, but barely; not enough to cut his brother down with only his mind, but enough to pry a part of the bark of the wall and fashion it into a blade after a fashion.

After cutting Raziel down from the wall, Raziel stared at him with empty eyes and a thankless mouth, following like a shadow as the walls shifted again. Lucifer returned to following the string; down a flight of stairs he went, stairs that went down and down and down, seemingly endless, and he almost grew tired of the downward climb. Raziel was soft-footed behind him; Lucifer looked back to ensure he was there, chiding himself as Orpheus, who should have known better—but Ms. Thomas was hardly the God of the Dead, neither in guardianship nor in power. Lucifer would reign, he was determined. Finally, a small plateau came to pass, and on it was Renee, and Babylon, and Abaddon—all ties to a stake inside a boiling cauldron, their skin pruning and boils beginning to form. What meal were they for? Lucifer didn’t have the time to piece it together, but he freed these women whom he looked after like daughters, unable to stop himself from saving them. 

He stood on the side of the cauldron, his foot blistering from the heat, and undid their knots, their ropes. His feat would heal, in time. Faster than most angels and demons—but not fast enough to be painless as he continued his descent down the staircase, the trio of girls fell in line behind him, soundless and thankless and soft-footed with Raziel. The string became more taut as he rounded a bend and the stairs dropped off; he couldn’t even see where he stepped, but he had to trust he was meant to keep going, that something would carry him along. The pain underfoot let him know this to be true, each step leaving a bloody trail behind him, though the floor was unknowable. And then he saw Leviathan, his best friend, his confidante, the only person in the whole cosmos he knew he could trust without hesitation nor question. And she was being lowered into the nothingness in a coffin with a glass top, but her the strength of her fists did not seem to change her trappings.

Lucifer jammed his bark-shiv into the side of the casket where its closure made rest; he wouldn’t trim the ropes lowering, for fear of losing her forever. Instead, he pried open the coffin, the makings of the place having an effect on itself, until he could separate it with enough space so Leviathan could pry herself out. She didn’t speak when she was freed; she looked through him and joined her place in the rank and file behind him, wordless and heedless and soft. Lucifer felt half-mad at the thought of it, but pushed away the questions that made him uneasy: Why weren’t they happy being free? What was this place? After all, there was no time for it. Who else did he need to save? Who else was in this wasteland of dust and ash? Was this what the apocalypse truly looked like: not nothing, but a pale horse of nothing? An almost-something? An eternal memory of a nightmare imagining a once-was dream of life?

And finally, there was the center of the labyrinth, with the red string having found its inception. It was a circle of falling ash and nameless tree bark, and those who he saved formed an outer circle, their shadow selves with shadow mouths and soot dark feet making black noise. Lucifer barely registered it, because in front of him, holding the other end of the twine, was Talia, her face lovely and serene as she held a beating heart in her teeth. It seemed to be his own, beating in time with what pulsing he could hear that was so loud thick it was deafening, the way quiet can be when surrounded by more silence. She pressed her teeth closer together and Lucifer gasped in pain. But behind her, there was a door. He didn’t know who this Talia was, but he couldn’t believe she would hurt him, not like this. She wasn’t made for that, it would unmake her; it couldn’t be true. Lucifer turned to warn his friends—

—only to find that their mouths were bloody, too. Saving others never did save yourself.

He looked from them to Talia, her eyes bright and loving, her hands reaching, inviting, saying, Just stay here; haven’t you had enough of the fighting? What has saving this world ever done for you? All of your friends become enemies. But here, the war’s already lost, and what a relief for it. Here, stay with us, stay with me, my love, stay with me, where I can never die again. And he felt himself reach for her, the way that you always go on reaching for the one that you love—the one you can never be rational about, the one who always has final command over your heart, no matter how much time has passed—he went on reaching—for her, always her—

—but he saw the ash falling on his hand, and he looked at her not for the spell she was but for the soul he remembered, and for the first time in a long time, he allowed himself a tear, a tear for all of the betrayals he’d felt, and all the more he know he’d yet to endure, and the loneliness that would always be a part of his burden—and he reached past her, to the door.

[untamedtempest-archived]

One

“Should I tell the children it was love at first sight?”

Ororo thought her amused snort at Jean’s question was answer enough. With the occasional pass to enter her mind the telepath was well aware how silly she consider the notion. Especially since they’d yet to meet. Though interest was apparent, the redhead firmly in grasp she kept them aloft just out the fray while glowing gaze remained fixed on the avenger wielding a hammer and churning the clouds. How odd to feel the power of another's thunder echoing across the heavens. Alone in such feats for so long she'd stopped considering there could be another of similar talents, the news coverage during the Chitauri attack on Manhattan had been quite the eye-opener.

"Are you still masking our presence?”

"Unless you’d care to say hello.” The faint lilt earned the telepath an annoyed eye-roll. To remark any further would only encourage her supposed friend’s goading.  

“No. We only came to observe and they appear to have this under-“

“Oops, nearly spoke too soon."

A henchman went toppling over descending at a rate that screamed eager for his date with the ground.  A red blur blew by a breath after but the pack, adamantium plated armor and positioning… despite the thunderer’s effort it wouldn't see to a good outcome. She suspected he knew this yet still made the attempt. An intriguing deed that would have prompted her to action regardless of moral obligation, it also twitched the corners of her lips just enough for Jean to snicker.  

“Perhaps a few introductions...”  The draft she created sent the nameless man shooting back up till he leveled with the two women. Though screaming his head off he's in one whole piece, seemingly much to the surprise of the tailing prince.

Two

 "No, first love," Clint snickered from over the rim of steaming mug, and before another word followed Ororo knew exactly where this conversation was going. For a moment she debated slinking back upstairs and departing from the roof, however that might give them some sick sense of satisfaction. Beside they couldn’t really be that bad, right? “The a ball and chained, and then a brat."

 "Ok," Anthony nodded in agreement reaching cross the counter for the coffee pot. "But are they sitting a tree or cloud? I'd go with clouds, kissing in tress feels so… common, for weather royalty."

 Nope, the archer and the playboy were actually far worse than children, and in rare form this morning to boot. Refusing to acknowledge them she made a beeline towards the pantry and immediately started combing through Bruce's stock of tealeaves. This morning called for something potent. "Do they carry on like this when he's around?"

 Lately any prolonged time spent alone the thunderer’s company was soon followed by some form of innuendo or teasing from the chuckling pair. Curiosity and the natural ease she felt in his presence had fostered a fast friendship between the weather gods. Much as she liked the other Avengers the more time spent in his orbit the harder it was to gravitate towards anyone else, especially after their playful spectacle. With increasing frequency group outings turned into quiet hangouts for two and the end of missions often becoming the start some private downtime. Ororo hoped she hadn’t unintentionally offended, or more importantly caused any unnecessary trouble for Thor. The answer came in the form of sharp snort from the captain from the Sunday paper. "No.”

“So they believe I’m the pushover?” As suggested by her clip tone the notion didn’t amuse her in the slightest, and discerning man she’d recently discovered him to be Steve swiftly guessed she would only tolerate so much foolishness.

 “And you're going to?"

 “Oh, nothing terrible,” she assured. "Merely inform there’s been no smooching in trees nor clouds.” Last night she'd simply lost track of time track of time until Natasha called for Thor’s assistance. The way cerulean eyes lit up and gestures became livelier with mentions of certain names and places made his tales of home that much more enchanting, she refused to take blame for the continuous prompts believing anyone else would have done the same.  “And no one is love."

 To this Steve was notably silent, ocean blues fixed on the headlines and lips pulled into a queer thin mashed line before drawing the paper back up. "I'm not," she muttered after a moment taking the empty seat next to him. If she were even remotely in the right headspace for romantic entanglements it would still be far too soon for anything that deep. Admiration, respect and even a health dose of attraction were there to be sure, but she was certain of the declaration. And while she couldn't speak for Thor she suspected if asked his answer wouldn't be much different. “If all else fails, I’ll turn Antony’s workshop into the world most expensive kiddie pool.”

 "Which one?" the captain chuckled as if the thought brought great delight.

Looking over a shoulder her brows narrowed catching the tale end of the childish rhyme coming together, complete with hand gestures and tailored with mentions of kissing in clouds and pushing lightning bolts in baby carriages. "All of them, simultaneously."  

 Three

“Robot is metal man, dolly in black dress is spider woman and this one Miss Ro must guess.” 

Ororo took one look at the Ken doll with a crimson dinner-napkin tied around its neck and immediately started grinning. “Hmm…Thor?”    

“Yes!” Clapping her hands Bo beamed with pride. “I find cape and make hammer with pop stick and tin.” 

“It’s a very good likeness, and this one in the wedding dress?” The one ebony doll in the child’s elaborate setup had pieces of white yarn and a crown glued to the top of its head. 

“Storm bride,” she answered giving the headmistress an exacerbated headshake, thinking it more than obvious. “Because first love, kissy face, wedding…and then babies!’ The girl broke out into a ringing of giggles as if the notion were the most amusing thing in the world. 

“I see,” Ororo muttered quietly unsure of how to respond. She had no objections to Bo pretending whatever she liked; so long she didn’t confuse her dolls with real life.  “Bo, Thor is my friend.” Her friend she was increasingly having not so friendly thoughts about. The friend who’d never failed to make her smile and never made her feel out place. Risking what they had by admitting there could be more certainly wouldn’t be the wise call for many reasons, especially when uncertain of his feelings. And musings of what might be was far cry from love; besides what would a child know about such things? “You understand, right? I’m very fond of him, but we’re not a couple. We're not-“  

“Mister Thor looks at Miss Ro like princes in castle movies. And you smile bunches when he around,” the tot retorted very matter-of-fact, then proceeded to tune her out while making the bride and groom dance.

Four

The signs sleep had been elusive lately went beyond red puffy eyes and excessive yawning. For anyone paying close attention, and he always did, it must have been painfully obvious the stress of various duties were taking a bigger toll than ever before. If anyone could relate to the frustration of goals not achieved and the guilt of the lives that couldn't be saved it was the god softly murmuring reassurances against her temple. No need to explain the quiet tears damping his hoodie or the downpour blanketing the city. Her dreams haunted by failure and continuous heartbreak weary form took refuge in solid welcoming arms and finally allowed the weight of it all drag her down.  

Wrapped her limbs round him as if the railing weren’t strong enough and held on like person who need fear falling, until calluses fingers found their way under her sweater… Lulled by the gentle caressing circles they make along her trembling back eventually the storm within calmed, the raindrops pelting the window soften, winds ceased howling, eyelids grew heavy and every muscles went limp.

A habitual hider of weakness it occurred to her utterly falling apart in front Thor should feel unsettling. Not much time had passed since he’d asked about rules and protocols and even less since boldly declaring the god off the dating market. Yet she’d sought him out when most in need, was trusting him to safely hold tattered pieces until she could put herself back together. When there were so many others who cared and shared years of history that had to mean something, nearly every moment since their first had. However in this mentally battered state she couldn't be certain the obvious answer was the right one. She also couldn’t bare thought of messing this up. So she told herself no, you are broken and exhausted, shook away all questions with a shuddering breath, tighten the embrace once more and kept holding wishing never to let go.

Five

 “Why am I refusing? Well, for one I think he should be the one to do the asking,” she informed calmly, despite the internal sirens blaring. Like his son Thor’s father was a determined force the likes of which the weather goddess had rarely come across. An admirable quality when facing adversaries shoulder to shoulder, however, terrifying he when started talking wedding plans. “Call me old fashion but a royal decree just doesn’t sound like a romantic proposal. And second…” Arms tightly folded and lips pursed her mind rattled off the hundreds of what ifs. What if he'd been wrong, if she hadn't found him in time, if...he'd left her behind like everyone else?

Though the battle was over, won in no small part to his actions, and she’d been assured he’d recover by morning the sky directly above remained a forebodingly dark and thick as soup. Right now any celebration, wedding or otherwise, was far from heart's desire, she'd rather he wake up so she could have someone to yell at. “He’s an idiot,” she grumbled looking down on the slumbering thunderer, “Went off on his own when anything could have- no, I couldn't possibly love such a brash fool.”  Whether she’d amused the king with words or the deafening crack of thunder that followed, his booming laughter struck a familiar cord that had the weather witch smiling despite herself. Leaving defensives completely down when shrew gaze and astute observation was aimed squarely in her direction.  

“Anger can often be a reflection of one’s… affection.”

“It can be,” she sighed, slender fingers carefully brushing back an unruly lock of gold from battered cheek. The pained expression that briefly passed over her features gave more away than she was willing to say aloud. How pathetically cliché to finally face it now, to stop struggling against her heart and give in to just how deeply and utterly hopelessly in love she was when the urge smack him had yet subsided. “…With all due respect, the answer is still no.” A firm one, and would remain so… unless and until Thor asked, if and when he had the desire…then well...

@asgardianhammer

[itsknittingtime]

So here it, the finished article at last! This was my first project carrying yarn round the back and with first tries comes a lot of learning points. Like tension. The age old adage of knitting, tension tension tension. The first half turned out ok but then something went down on the second half aaaaand it didn't exactly turn out a perfect rectangle... But oh well, it was a learning project! And I think I definitely got some experience points out of this bad boy. 

Onto the next project on the list, kelsey's cable pillow!